


variable

by Fractis



Series: there were three (un)lucky people left and i was one of them [1]
Category: BEN Drowned, Creepypasta - Fandom, Haunted Majora's Mask Cartridge
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Delusions, Drowning, Emotional Dependancy, Gaslighting, Gen, Gore, Horror, Lima Syndrome, Manipulation, Mental Instability, Psycological Horror, Schizophrenia, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, breakdowns, fake btw, holy shit should i just put that this is a rlly dark fic and leave it at that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-17 13:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2311466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fractis/pseuds/Fractis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I wonder how you would have reacted if I hadn't revealed myself and stayed hidden, only doing little things to play with you. Close out your windows, turn off your computer, move your mouse by itself. Little things. Make you wonder if I am there but you never know. Give you little hints that I am."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the experiment;

**i.**

* * *

99%

They're all finishing.

I know there is a reason for my downloading the videos and the documents, I know what it is. But I pretend I don't. If I knew the reasoning behind my actions and revealed it to myself then that would make things pathetic.  
It's too hard to pretend to myself, though. I can't do it all the time. If I tried I'd just give in.

That's pathetic too. It's a lose-lose situation, really.

* * *

I decide look at the document first.  
I've watched the videos already once, twice, a dozen times over.  
I don't need to see them again, yet.

Not yet.

I think it's a little gross how I'm transfixed by the words of another person's tragedy.  
I look over the words he's written detailing the extent of his nightmare and all I can do is read read read on until I've seen everything. Maybe it's because it's new, exciting (the videos have long since gotten old) but that doesn't matter. I'm still poring over every riveting detail, just like some petty person would over tabloid magazines...

Petty, I guess I am then, because I do that too. Or, used to. I don't have the time any more.

I shouldn't have the time to do this either.  
It's too late for me to do this and I should be getting sleep, but I've been waiting for updates ever since I stumbled upon this. I just can't stop looking over things. I want to know everything, I want to solve mysteries and find out things by myself and feel accomplished. I have to fin

* * *

That's it.

That's the end.

* * *

It's finished and I only feel melancholy.

It's disappointing. The ending is always disappointing for me because there is never anything else there and I have to content myself with squeezing out things from the text that aren't really there; I have to try to read between the lines in the hopes that there will still be something that I haven't found out yet. But I'm afraid to do that now. Once I've sucked the story dry, once I've combed over every neatly printed letter of it, there is only the finish and the words that I've already picked apart a million times. I don't want that to happen. I've finally found something worthwhile and I don't want it to end ever even through it has to. I want to linger in the thought that there are still some things I've left uncovered, and that there is somehow something more.

I don't mind if I have to force myself not to nitpick over everything.

* * *

My eyes stare at the screen, roving over the final words (' _Thanks again, Jadusable_ ') and I try not to look at the symbols above it because looking would mean getting interested and getting interested would mean

I don't want to think.

Instead I try to focus on the fact that he is thanking me for listening to him, for taking an interest in his story.  
(maybe he wouldn't care that my interest in it was petty, morbid, even- or that I hadn't tried to help- he would just be glad that someone had cared)  
(he's safe now, anyway. why does it matter?)  
I stare and stare until my vision blurs, I mull over the words again and again and I smile and dare to think that I did something right by listening; even though I did nothing directly, I somehow, in a way, helped.

Even though my reason for it was so petty.

My smile grows and I just-

pretend my mouse didn't move.


	2. and you were lucky weren't you?

**ii.**

* * *

I think it would be right to be angry at myself.  
I lied to myself.  
And maybe it was to someone else, too.

Have you- there I go again, but maybe it doesn't matter any way- have you noticed that whenever you think to yourself, it's as if you're narrating things? It's like there's another person in your head- and maybe there is. Like in the movies and tv shows where someone's conscious, moral-director, whatever, talks to them, guides them in the right direction. Pinocchio's cricket, that sort of thing.

Or maybe it's only like that for me.

Although,

Perhaps that wasn't a lie, that the mouse had moved; I haven't taken my medication in a bit.  
So maybe, really, I did see it move, but it didn't really move. It was only all in my head.  
That could be it.  
Or maybe It couldn't be.

I've never really been good at telling the differences between truth and lies, and I don't think I ever will be.  
Not that I mind. I have others to do it for me.  
I can consult them if I need  
If I need  
help.

* * *

Work is done for today, and I finally took my medication like I was supposed to. I keep on forgetting. Really, I should make myself a reminder, or something similar. I I don't forget, things like this won't happen.  
Like at work today.

He always finds a reason to complain and yell at me.  
I'm not even sure why he hasn't fired me, or why he even hired me in the first place.  
Maybe he wanted a scapegoat for his answer issues? That has to be it.

Not that I care about that. The job pays well. Because of it I'm fed, I'm housed, and I have my friends.  
Really, I can handle a little poking at my illness if I have those things.

I don't know what I'd do without them.

* * *

(somehowithinkthati  
relishinhisanger  
though)

Shut up.

(it'sanewadventure  
notsomethingboring  
andialwayslikedadventures)

Be quiet.

(butidontwantto  
admitit)

I don't like arguing.

(ido)

* * *

Everything is done; my homework, my projects, my notes due Monday...

.

It's midnight.

.

I should be asleep.

* * *

I'll read it all over once, I'll watch the videos all just once. That's all I'll do. I won't go over every word of the document and type assumptions till my fingers are bleeding from pressing the keys so hard, I won't examine every frame of the videos until my eyes blur, I won't even nitpick.  
I'll only read things over once.  
I'll only watch everything once.  
Just once.

I promise.

I promise.

* * *

_'I promise.'_

* * *

I'm not good at keeping promises, especially ones that pertain to myself, that are made to myself. I'm not really sure why. It's just another part of me, I guess.  
And a lousy one at that.  
I've never been good at it, and I'm sure that I never will be.  
Not that I mind. Why keep promises when you have others to keep them for you?

.

It's two in the morning.

.

I should be asleep.

But I can't.

I can't.  
I really can't.

I need to make sure of something first, I need to look at something first.

* * *

Did something just open on it own? Why did new windows suddenly just pop up?  
Maybe they didn't.  
But I swear that I see things move out of the corner of my eye and when I look

(maybe, just maybe, its him hes real and it could be that something is finally happening but i oh i)  
Did I take my medication earlier today?  
Maybe not.  
Or maybe it just wasn't enough, what I took.  
I forget.

That could be a reason.  
Or two.  
But I'm sure I took some.

...but not really.

* * *

There is another document and I can see it this time I am sure that it was there.

It's still there.

(along with another one)

* * *

It has those last words on there and I know that I made that but I didn't open it. So why is it open?  
(is this really happening oh yes finally something exciting but i still won't look at the other one)  
(it's a face and it's titled 'NEXT')  
I'm sure this time I took enough medication, so I know I'm not hallucinating again. It not my brain this time. It can't possibly be. And the computer is obviously unable to do that on it's own...and some virus might...my computer might be infected with a virus of some sort.  
(did it close)

I feel myself (smile) frown and there is the anti-virus icon in the task-bar, a click away. With any luck the virus will (be lethal unable to be fixed and i will have to take my laptop and smash it and buy a new one) be annihilated by the time I wake up tomorrow. Then I can be done with these pop-up documents and I can (go back to varian's boring normal life with no excitement) go back to living normally.

I want to click on it.  
But I can't.  
Something stops me.  
Or maybe someone does.  
Or maybe I do.  
Am I the one to blame?

I only close the document (and look in recently opened but there is only 'final' there but i swore it was here). And then I wait and watch and stare at the screen again until my eyes are blurring and burning but nothing comes up. I think my mouse moves just a bit but I can't be sure, I'm not sure at all. Maybe it's because I'm tired, it's three-thirty-something and my limbs are aching but I still want to be awake. There has to be something that's going to happen, there has to be something that will pop up. I know it, I feel it.

But I'm tired.

Even though I want to stay here and wait forever.

* * *

My head is down on my arms and my eyes are still staring and my brain is blank. I don't know if I saw my mouse move or not but I think I did, and at the same time I think I didn't. But that's at the back of my mind. I'm thinking about cows and the moon and stars and other crazy things.

But the thought of the mouse is still there.

My eyes droop and the moon and the stars and the cows leave me. I blink and I wonder if maybe this is why Jad didn't want us to download anything, because he really wasn't lying and his own personal tormenter actually could spread through these things.  
He wasn't lying?  
Perhaps.

Then I think that that was why I

(oh i'm so tired)

There's a faint laugh or maybe there isn't and my eyes are closing and I'm going to


	3. you can rest in your haven called dreams

**iii.**

* * *

I am on a dock laughing while everything is spread out before me.

Water isn't blue in lakes, or at least not this lake. It's something in between dark brown ink and black licorice and smells something awful, acidic rotting birds and algae mixing together in the bottom with the sand.  
( _you're not supposed to squish your toes in that little boy don't dip your feet in the lake i said stop_ ).  
It isn't pleasant  
( _do you even hear me oh_ _are there people standing behind him_ )  
but it isn't horrible,  
( _one of them is putting a hand on his shoulder_ )  
though it is weird.  
( _i think they're smiling but there are scary masks and happy whispers and i can't see through them no i can't_ )  
But I can stand it  
( _what are you doing to him while you whisper and maybe-smile_ )  
because there is sunlight dancing on the surface,  
( _what you can't do that to anyone o god no isn't he only ten_ )  
making things warmer then they should be.  
( _i'm so scared_ )

I see bubbles rising from the surface somewhere,  
( _please o god_ )  
and I smile while I kick my feet  
( _i am screaming but you do not hear me why can't you hear me or maybe you're ignoring me_ )  
through the air waiting  
( _please fuck no don't_ )  
for someone with messy hair and sharp eyes  
( _why can't i get you off of him why do i only go right through_ )

The bubbles  
( _am i a ghost_ )  
suddenly stop as the water  
( _o god is he dead did they_ )  
crashes aside to part into a wave for my  
( _i am screaming again don't touch me_ )  
brother to laugh at me, wiping that smelly water away from his  
( _there are hands on my face on my arms on my legs and they are tugging pulling scratching at me_ )  
mouth.  
( _my head is bent over the water and there is another hand on the back of my neck_ )  
'Bet you can't hold your breath for that long.' he smirks at me but I still smile and shake my head.  
( _i breath in a huge gulp of air o please no please stop_ )  
Then he laughs as he  
( _they push me under_ )  
pulls me into the lake.

I come back up again  
( _i am spitting and spluttering and thrashing but i cannot break free and_ )  
and scowl  
( _there is a blue face and blue hands that grip my neck and blue lips that talk in my ear such a rough ugly voice_ )  
when he pulls me under again.  
( _one cannot continue thra_shing when one_is- -_ ) _  
_


End file.
